Stop! On thy lip let that dark slander die,
And die there all unspoken;
Let that half-uttered thought forever lie
In silence deep, unbroken.
How dar'st thou breathe such bitter, bitter words,
When they will wrong another?
Who bade thine evil eye and wicked heart
Judge thus thy erring brother? Stop, lest that word another's fame to blight,
The wayward lip shall blacken.
Sometime thou may'st be as he is now,
By all the world forsaken.
Then dare not crush an upward struggling soul,
That battles now its foemen,
Nor wake within the heart, perchance just calmed,
Again the slumbering demon. Art thou all pure from error and its stain?
Then pity those less holy.
Has thy weak soul sin's "clankless" fetters felt?
Then learn to be more lowly.
Hope not to win the erring back to truth
By cold and cruel scorning;
Pour on the spirit's deeply troubled pool
Some low, sweet, gentle warning. Perhaps unto that wayward soul has come
The "peace be still" from heaven,
If thy harsh words awake again the storm,
Hopest thou to be forgiven?
If thou hast sought and found "the better way, "
Then gently lead him thither,
And save the soul that now along life's road
Hastens so madly--whither? Judge not! That spirit's struggles are not known,
Save to "the pitying heaven; "
His boat braved fiercest storms e'er 't was at least
From virtue's moorings driven.
O! Had temptation's storms around thee swept,
Wouldst thou have stood unbending?
Or, like him, weary with protracted strife,
Have fallen while contending? Shame on thee, that thy lips should lightly tell,
A brother's frailties ever!
Beware, lest in his heart thy hand shall break
Some strained chord forever.
Till thou hast driven from thine own soul's depths
The plague spot and the staining;
Dare not, as thou dost hope for pardon, speak
The frailties of the erring.